Made with a Canon EF 100mm f/2.8 Macro USM.
There is regal majesty in the echinacea’s journey from bud to blossom. With the subtlety and finesse borne of fine stock she transforms with noble grace. Gentle petals work outward—a green coronet becoming the crown befitting her station. The purple coneflower corona hits its zenith only to unfurl to its full purple petal. Long and lithe this flower never loses the splendor of its most perfect roots.
Interested in buying? Purchase
It was a great season for peonies in my neck of the woods—Ocean County, New Jersey. Backloaded winters aside, it seems extended cool, wet conditions are a peony’s friend. Check out the peony floral arrangements Eastlin Floral Design was busy putting together. This flower species is a serious boon to any bouquet.
As for my yard, it boasted a few primetime peony blossoms in 2018. They made an excellent subject for my 100mm macro lens. Lighting conditions proved ideal for creating a dreamy, high key picture set in a cool tone. Had the late afternoon sun been direct, a yellow tone with strong shadows and highlights would have cast a far different look. A high overcast was pivotal here, keeping a standout rose pink color tone on the peony petals.
To further maximize the high key effect from ample filtered ambient light I was at an open(ish) f/4 aperture at 100mm. Coupled with a close subject proximity this renders an airy focus and bokeh for days. The end result is a center weight flower macro evoking a calm, easygoing mood.
Interested in buying? Purchase
I bought my home from my parents in October 2009. Built in 1993, my parents put in much work to cultivate a lovely yard through the years. Cue up yard work montage footage full of old clothes and dated hairstyle. And yes, I bought the house I grew up in. Under my ownership I have made great work undoing their great work. A once proud yard has fallen into disrepair under my watch. Where once there was lush grass there is the lingering remains of fescue. Where plants and flowers once thrived there is the unkempt overgrowth of perennials. All flanked by an uncontrolled spread of weeds. A groundskeeper I am not.
For whatever reason a shrub that had been for years on the brink, has returned to its former glory. A least in part. A Jane magnolia, photo above, has undergone something of a renaissance in my side yard. It has flowered up better than at any point in the last four years or so. With it injecting a most welcome infusion of purple to the yard. It’s a pleasing contrast to the yellow explosion of otherwise out of control forsythia marking the property’s edge. While the wheels have come off my lawn it’s nice to have some picturesque reminders of better days.
This lyrically inspired title comes from Jane’s Addiction, “Jane Says,” of course.
Interested in buying? Purchase
Winter rains descend unceasing. Blanketing the land in fog and gray. Dampness seeps into every corner. An unquenched avarice tasked to steal warmth wherever it may lay. There is no quarter. The wheel of time erodes the land upon its grindstone. Unconcerned with the changes wrought churning out universal meal. Always turning. Destroying. Creating. Transforming. Always turning.
We grow. We flourish. We wither. We die. We renew. The great circle of all things coiling back upon itself. The world snake consuming its own tail. We are come. We are gone. We are return. And so the long night of winter with slow and ever present speed withers to the brighter light of spring. The rebirth is coming. The resurrection of that which sets withering upon the tree of all life ready to bud.
Interested in buying? Purchase
As it is with most felines, my cat loves to bask in the warm sun. She waits patient at my sliding backdoor for my daily opening of the shades. This morning the sky broke clear and blue, and the sun’s power was further fueled by a fresh snowpack. The light was strong.
Aware of the opportunity I grabbed my camera, affixed my 100mm lens and not so smoothly laid belly down on the floor aside my cat. For whatever reason my cat Daisy is not overfond of a camera pointed in her face. (But hey, neither am I.) At most I’ll have 20 seconds before she makes her escape, put out by my camera’s presence.
During our brief stay I managed to make off with two photographs. Each playing up her majestic main and deep, probing stare. She is as a lion set firm in the fullness of life, content in her wisdom and station. As for me, I am lucky for her countenance and company.
The moon was a crescent, thin and sharp as the blade of a knife. A pale sun rose and set and rose again. Red leaves whispered in the wind. Dark clouds filled the skies and turned to storms.
—Bran III, A Dance with Dragons; volume five in A Song of Ice and Fire.
Author George R. R. Martin, in one of his strongest, and most rhythmic chapters in A Song of Ice and Fire brings the reader into long, uninterrupted passage of time. Written with exacting precision, we, along with the moon and the characters therein, cycle through time as Bran trains with the Three-Eyed Raven. “The moon was fat and full… The moon was a black hole in the sky… The moon was a crescent, thin and sharp as the blade of a knife.” The cycle repeats no fewer than three times as readers work through Bran’s journey. Cold and lonely in a cave unseeing yet aware of the cold, cruel world outside. We endure the passage of time with our protagonist. Aware of both repetition, effort and duration. This takes peculiar significance with Bran who himself is able to take over the minds of others, man and beast. As readers, Martin is imploring us to do the same through his language. We become Bran in that cave.
Recalling how I felt when I first read through this chapter I marvel at what Martin had done. His use of language, tone, rhythm and repetition stirring my imagination. I saw the moon. I experienced the time. I was with our hero feeling the burden of the work and paralyzed with the task ahead. I am not a prodigious reader, nor am I schooled in language, grammar or creative writing. Yet this chapter left a mark as though made from a crescent, thin and sharp as the blade of a knife. It took the habit of reading, and thereby the art of writing, to a new level of appreciation. For the first time I perceived how exacting words can move mind, body and soul. It was tangible evidence that reading is essential to better writing. It is the key to better storytelling. The key to better understanding of our world and our audience.
Standing out on the marsh last week, watching a sunset fade, I saw the moon was a crescent, thin and sharp as the blade of a knife. Immediately transported I saw all the sickled moon blades I’d witnessed over the years. In the same moment I was Bran. At the same moment still I was reading Martin’s words, seeing again all the sickled moon blades I’d witnessed over the years. Sharp as a knife, black as a hole, fat and full. Anything… everything happening at once, thin and sharp as the blade of a knife.
Interested in buying? Purchase
Some pink to delight. A touch of green to soothe. An easy beige to calm. A spread of brown to hasten. Fall is upon us as much as this colorful bouquet would show otherwise. If looks could deceive this quick fire hydrangea would take a bow in the starring role.
Come spring this bush blooms plain enough. Simple white flowers open up, as unassuming as they are unremarkable. Over the next few months playing host to a litany of eager pollinators. As the days turn to weeks and the weeks turn to months, a most curious transition occurs. Once simple white flowers transition into a colorful panoply of pastel beauty. A shield device painted by the unseen hands of the master power. By late fall the color sets in a striking kaleidoscopic array. One last reserve serried up in full regalia ready to wage one last battle of life before winter takes the war. And winter always takes the war.
Interested in buying? Purchase
A solar eclipse is coming. You know this. On August 21, 2017, cutting a 70 mile wide swath that will stretch from Oregon to South Carolina our Sun will bow before the Moon. For those along its path totality will last less than three minutes. In less than a blink in the cosmic eye observers will see existence as never before; eyes wide, forever changed. The universe and their sense of place therein forever altered, perspective transcended.
Reflecting on this heavenly vision wonders sketch upon the corners of my mind. What a remarkable coincidence we humans care to observe. That in a moment our lone satellite orbits at perfect proportion. Passing through a gravitational sweet spot. An exacting position poised to blot our mother star with mathematical precision. A coincidence made more profound considering the Moon’s drift from Earth since its violent inception. Through the eons the Moon has been on a path outwards; as though adding length to the spinning lasso the mechanics of gravity are at work. We stand at right place at the right time to observe a perfect distance to size ratio rendering Sun and Moon as though identical in size. The incomprehensible unlikely hood that we are in the here and now, sentient and able to process is astounding.
I carry this reflection further by drifting back deeper into the past. My thought experiment settles on the effect this must have had on our species sans scientific enlightenment. This supernatural feat could only have been the work of the heavens. Powerful gods. Deities exerting their will to bring night where there was once day. Like the arrival of a comet observers must have cowered before ominous portents. As best they could the wise would convey esoteric messages upon their people to explain away the signs. Yet in our darkest periods there may not have been systems for any such explanation. At some point before oral histories passed this would pass as unique and terrifying event. What a time to be alive that we can observe this event and appreciate its machinations as they are. With humble understanding we are but a spec standing on a precipice of unbelievable timing and circumstance. Yet as it was in our more primitive past there remains so much we do not know. And so the eternal journey of waking continues.
Interested in buying? Purchase
Editor’s note: [July 29, 2017] This is not a small blue butterfly. It is an eastern tailed blue butterfly. It’s the small thin tail that earns this distinction. Shout-out to Dave Blinder who coincidentally posted a shot of an eastern tailed blue on his Instagram today thus unveiling my error. It’s always good to learn something new. I’m keeping the title as is—it’s still a blue butterfly small in size.
A favorite bug friend came to feast upon a favorite flower. Macro serendipity multiplied. It’s been years since I’ve photographed a small blue butterfly. (Note: This is not a small blue) So you can imagine my happiness when I spied it doing its nectar thing atop a purple coneflower.
Outside with my gear I got to work making photos. Pleased the dive bombing carpenter bee that was harassing the silver-spotted skipper earlier had left its post, the little small blue eastern tailed blue was able to feast unmolested. While small this little fella packed plenty of courage. He paid me no mind as it drank about the coneflower, dexterously darting its tongue amid the orange spires. With notable discipline the small blue eastern tailed blue worked clockwise about the coneflower stamen at a steady pace. The predictable clockwork fashion aided my shooting. I was able to get close and anticipate its maneuvering with ease.
From here I worked the full midday sun into advantage. It afforded fast shutter speeds to aid handheld sharpness. More beneficial, it infused the exposure with strong contrast. This creates the deep blue-black behind the small blue and amplifies the dramatic streak of highlight running atop the edge of its wings. Lending a theater quality that might shine upon the actor during her soliloquy. The small blue eastern tailed blue muse was not lost on me.
Interested in buying? Purchase